


Translated; Overlapped

by Nightmist



Series: Aymeric/Estinien Ship Week 2020 [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Breathplay, Emotional Constipation, Estimeric Week (Final Fantasy XIV), F/F, Gender or Sex Swap, Lesbian Sex, Oral Sex, Pining, Pre-Canon, Strap-Ons, Temple Knights Era, What's a little sex between friends, girl sandwich
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:47:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25081126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightmist/pseuds/Nightmist
Summary: A series of vignettes or scenes from the Temple Knights days, except with Aymeric, Haurchefant, and Estinien being female. Why? Because girls are hot, y'all, and Ican.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Estinien Wyrmblood, Aymeric de Borel/Haurchefant Greystone, Aymeric de Borel/Haurchefant Greystone/Estinien Wyrmblood, Haurchefant Greystone/Estinien Wyrmblood
Series: Aymeric/Estinien Ship Week 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1871575
Comments: 41
Kudos: 68
Collections: Estimeric Week 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shoutz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoutz/gifts).



> This is for my dearest and most beloved Shoutz, who encourages all my terrible and insane ideas. Like this one.
> 
> ... I make zero promises that I might not come back and write more in this is the urge strikes me, it was too much fun.

The first time she'd seen her fight, bare-faced, the simple mail of a trainee obscuring anything but the power in her muscles, she'd been sure he had seen the Fury herself, come to set foot on Eorzean soil. When she admitted as much to Haurchefant later, mildly tipsy around the campfire after dinner, the younger (but, if Aymeric were honest with herself, far more worldly) soldier had quite a merry bout of laughter. "Aymeric! Ah, but have you _spoken_ with her? If she is the Fury, I assure you, all her wrath is tied up in that blade of a tongue!"

In strict honesty, Haurchefant is not _entirely_ incorrect in that judgement. If Estinien uses words, they are either heated or utilitarian; after observing her for a few weeks and several rather abortive attempts to start a discussion over a meal, Aymeric decides the other soldier might not even know the names of anyone _not_ in her immediate chain of command. She should find it rude and off-putting. Yet for some reason, the sheer _universality_ of it fascinates her, perhaps because as someone who is all too used to being pushed away or scorned, having it done not because of who she _is_ but just because it's the same as _everyone_ has a strange allure. So let Haurchefant tease her; she harms no one if she sneaks glances at the striking lancer, with her angular face and cool eyes, nor if she allows herself idle daydreams of finding some way to get to know the person behind all that ice.

(())

She is not in love with Haurchefant, nor Haurchefant with her, but they do _love_ one another, in as much as friends may. (She can recall Haurchefant's dreamy smile as she explained, "When I fall, Aymeric, it will not be for someone steeped in the bitter dregs of Ishgardian expectations. They will be wild and free, a heart that knows me only for me, and loves me only for me." The younger knight had rolled onto her back then, looking up at the setting sun through the leaves. "That man or woman will be fierce and powerful and all the things a warrior should be, and they will never care that I'm 'only a Greystone.'" Bitter weariness traced through those words, the subtle bitterness that had made them friends, growing up either known or suspected bastards.)

Only Haurchefant could have made her walking into the tent that first time, to find Aymeric sprawled on her belly on her cot, breeches tented over the desperate movements of her fingers against her sex, seem unremarkable and normal. She'd flopped down on the other cot, proceeded to drop a casual, "Oh, do keep going, don't mind me, I shan't mind in the least. Might do an old girl a favor and share whatever thoughts crowd that pretty head while you do, though," and then gone about her normal chatter of the day without losing a beat. _Of course_ , that first time, Aymeric had promptly stopped and tried to discreetly wipe her hand on her blanket, as she had the next few times. But…

With Haurchefant's inevitable knack for locating anything salacious, it kept happening, and time alone to get a little physical release was _so_ rare. Slowly, she found herself touching herself through as she listened to Haurchefant natter on, about matters banal, or increasingly, filled with observations about the people and things on her mind, some of which were perhaps a touch fueling. With time, she even found herself answering the offhand questions about her thoughts, at first in generalities — _strong arms; the curve of a hip bone; her lips look chapped and I want to kiss them soft_ — then after one crisp autumn evening when Haurchefant had rolled onto her side to look across the gap to her, in the dim light, and grinned with all her eternal jaunty enthusiasm. "Really, my dear friend, you can just _say_ Estinien instead of 'her’ or leaving off entire. We both know who you mean, after all."

She had demurred at the time, but Haurchefant was not wrong. She didn't find herself protesting after, either, when Haurchefant's idle chatter of attractive folks about camp started to wander to very specific flattering comments about the dragoon that drew Aymeric's eyes, nor the other woman drawing closer time and again, til faster than she'd thought possible, she was whispering a forbidden name over parted lips while Haurchefant's fingers urged her on, breath hot and tickling pinkprick sparkles up the length of her ears as she chanted fantasies and fictions, watching to see what drew the strongest reaction as friends became lovers of accommodation, playing an affectionate if ultimately indirect game.

Tonight, Aymeric's pale gold thighs bracket one of Haurchefant's as she rolls against it, grinding out her pleasure against the flexed muscles of a skilled chobobo rider, but _not_ those of a tanned dragoon, as Haurchefant murmurs tauntingly for her ears, "Imagine, Aymeric, the control she would have, working muscles trained for those ridiculous dragoon jumps against you… Halone preserve you if anyone ever dared to introduce her to the merits of a strap. She'd utterly _liquidize_ you into the bed, and I bet you'd just scream…" Haurchefant is sprawled on her back, short ice-blue hair feathered out over the pillows, face flushed as she narrates, the one leg lifted to better press to the needy slippery folds riding it, her own hands eagerly attending to herself. A series of huffed breaths as she pushes through a small peak, the Greystone's easy-going attitude about many things often applying to orgasm as well, as she'd cheerfully work herself through several, in different moods, while Aymeric was still whimpering and pleading with her body to let her just have that _first_ one.

That jolly wandering mind's mood shifts again here, and one of Haurchefant's hands moves to Aymeric's thigh, tracing nails up the inside as the dark-haired woman presses down harder, hair spilling across her shoulder, eyes screwed shut as she _imagines_ , bracing palms against her companion's chest. "To consider the other hand, though, with you above me like that, and that _smirk_ you get sometimes… Maybe tis that you would prefer the other way. Take the woman of ice and granite, see that for _you_ she'd melt down, Aymeric, blush, _pant_ , beg you to stuff her full of your fingers, let her eat your cunt, do _anything_ for you while still shutting away everyone else. Does that sound more like what you want?" 

Only Haurchefant would or could know that. If anyone else _so much as suspected_ , the things she'd dream in the darkness, of her inner needy, possessive heart, she would die ashamed. But here? Between her heart and that of her friend, it was allowed, accepted, welcomed as Haurchefant growls warmly, slips fingers between her flesh and Aymeric's, easily plunges fingers up and in at a familiar angle into familiar warmth to help draw that passion nearer, as hips stutter in desperation. At the very end, as heat becomes volcanic, as the light of the images flashing in her mind becomes an empty field, the last thing she hears before her body turns to motes of lightning; "She would be _yours_ , Aymeric, your Estinien, whimpering and screaming at your hands."

When the skill of full sight returns to her, the dark-haired woman slumps down against the other knight-soldier as Haurchefant finishes out another lazily gasped climax of her own, hips rolling aimlessly in the air. She then pulls her hand up, lazily licking her fingers clean of her own slick and the other woman's, eyes sparkling with mischief as she regards Aymeric through their spread. "You _really_ have it bad, you know."

Aymeric groans, rolling off to the side and tossing an arm over her eyes. Everything still felt a little raw. "A fact that only you know, I very dearly hope, and which you are prone to shamelessly abusing to see the effect it has on me to bare my heart."

"I like to see you happy, that's all." Haurchefant agrees happily, giving a slight bump, hip to hip. "I keep your secrets, my friend, and I merely wish to do what brings us the most joy if we while evenings together. Your desires do not distress me, they merely let me know you truly trust me." After a moment, Aymeric nodded, at first embarrassed then, slowly, recognizing the simple, pure truth of them in Haurchefant's honest, straightforward heart. In all the maneuvering and games she must play at all times, her simple clarity and true friendship is a powerful balm.

(())

The level of secret, giddy excitement that Aymeric feels when she and the dragoon are assigned to the same squadron for the next two moons is enough that she's grateful for all those years practicing hiding her feelings when taunted for her assumed heritage. Not that she fools Haurchefant, her friend helping her organize things for the transfer from barracks to a tent while on patrol. "I'd make a joke about maybe she turns out to be as pleasant a roommate as me but looks like individual sized tents." The taller woman throws an arm around Aymeric's shoulder, giving her a side hug full of lazy enthusiasm. "I want to hear _all about it_ when you get back! Every stupid pining detail you think you're too embarrassed to recount!" Promises are made, blushing aside, and she leaves Ishgard in a hopeful mood.

The squadron makes it a mere pair of sennights before the dragon slaughters them. Sweat half-mats strands of Aymeric's long hair to her forehead and she shakes Estinien's shoulder roughly. She was _sure_ she saw the other woman's chest rise and fall in a breath, please, please, let her not be the only one still alive, please…

When the dragoon sits up with a gasp, sticky blood smeared over her cheek and silver hair half-falling from its ponytail, it is all Aymeric can do to keep her calm facade instead of sobbing in relief. And… has no idea of Aymeric's name, apparently. After — well, no matter. As gently as she can break the news of the deaths of the rest (as if the lingering scent on the air, smoke and blood and… cooked meat… would not have done the same), she still expects some distress on Estinien's part.

Not that the other woman's jaw would set grimly, and she would pull herself to her feet, using her lance for leverage, and promptly set out after the dragon, tracking it by the blood from its wounds. She is almost out of sight before Aymeric recovers from her shock and grimly grabs her bow and quiver, stealing a few more arrows from where they have spilled near another body with a silent apology. She then wearily begins to follow in the wake of her surviving companion, not sure if it is the desire to not be alone that drives her or her inability to walk away when _Estinien_ might need her. Might remember her, after this.

She almost loses the other woman when she disappears into a ravine, then again when the dragoon finds the cave within, but whatever madness drives her exhausted feet, it gets her there in time. In time to spot a swing of the dragon's tails sending a blur of mail and silver hair flying backwards to impact into the wall with a brutally heavy noise. Before thought interferes, instinct takes over as the dragon lunges towards the fallen form; has Aymeric ever in her life drawn her bow and notched an arrow so quickly? A split second is all the time she has to aim, sighting on the great orb of an eye, her arm drawn back, then fingers flexing free.

All her desperate mental prayers to Halone must have been heard, because the arrow slips into its new home like a sword into the sheath, plunging deep and knocking the dragon's head aside the instant before it would end all of her foolish daydreams in fire and death. Nerves singing a chaotic chorus of adrenaline, Aymeric gasps as Estinien hurls herself from her fallen pose like the rising sun, only to descend once more, violence so graceful and pure in its intent that it become hauntingly beautiful as the dragoon's lance spears through the dragon and finally ends it in rush of dust and blood. 

Carefully, Aymeric edges deeper into the cave, spotting the shock on Estinien's striking angular features when she sees the arrow and spins, looking for company. The warm smile that comes to her own lips as instinctive as the arrow had been, especially when Estinien's continued confusion slowly thaws into a grudging respect and gratefulness. She thinks, at least; she may have made a study of those dark eyes and sharp jawline, but she has far from had the conversations to be sure of her reading. "Ser… Aymeric, I believe? I suppose I should thank you."

Her boots feeling like they weigh as much as a full grown chocobo as she lifts her feet, Aymeric makes herself close the rest of the distance, pulling the arrow free with rather more effort than she cares to admit it takes. "Better for everyone if a fighter of your caliber survives, don't you think?" She wipes the arrow clean, or as clean as she can get it, and carefully tucks it into her quiver again. Call it a souvenir.

"After that shot, I might say the same of you." Estinien's steely blue gaze is… not warm, no, but there's recognition now and that warms Aymeric in and of itself. "We have a long walk back to make." _We_. It shouldn't make her feel warm and fuzzy, when good men and women have died, and she's covered in blood both her own and draconic. It does anyway.

(())

After that, Aymeric finds that Estinien's near universal lazy contempt and lack of care for everyone else does not apply to her anymore, at least, not fully. It's not that she's exactly _friendly_ , but the other Temple Knight now nods to her greetings, will sit with her at meals and listen to her talk, and sometimes volunteers to help when she's assigned to one task or another. Ever so slowly, she starts to contribute her own comments in a low, rasping voice, always sounding a little to Aymeric like she still has the smoke in the wake of dragon-fire lingering in her throat. 

Aymeric learns, over time, that Estinien's whole village was wiped out in a dragon attack. She was taken in by the Azure Dragoon at the time, Alberic Bale, who had found the girl in the wreckage and presumably felt some sort of responsibility. Some of that prickliness begins to show its purpose, a self-protective shell against loss, although Aymeric would _never_ let herself be so crass as to comment on that openly. She knows better.

After a few moons, Estinien even regularly consents to come along when she and Haurchefant go into the city on time off, whether to the Forgotten Knight or on errands, although they both seem unable to resist needling at each other at least a little, the one eternally jolly, the other eternally dour. It leaves Aymeric a careful balancing act in the middle and while she does not precisely _mind_ , when Haurchefant is called out onto an extended patrol she looks forward to a brief respite from it. If nothing else, she has started to get the weird feeling that Estinien is watching _her_ back sometimes. Which is almost certainly her imagination, but that is more than enough to send her blood racing every time she thinks it.

It still shocks her when a few nights after Haurchefant's patrol has left the city she is called down to speak to the Commander in charge of the barracks. "Borel. We're reordering the rooms in preparation for the incoming squires. For the first time ever, Wyrmsblood asked for a specific roommate, namely, you. And given that her last two were in here complaining incessantly…" The man looks across the desk, giving her a measuring look. "She's a good dragoon, despite the personality, and my understanding is you two get on, well enough. There won't be any trouble from your family if I put you in with her?" The slight pause before 'family' is enough to tell her that he means both the official one and not. For a moment, a muscle tightens in her jaw, trembling minutely, but Aymeric is quick to suppress it.

"I can assure you, Sir, that even if we chance not to get along in that situation, neither I or my family are likely to make trouble." Aymeric says calmly, catching the measuring gaze she gets and meeting it with level certainty. She knows her reputation is of being agreeable and steady, which is to her benefit in most situations. In this one, certainly, because the part of her not trying to look rational and detached is currently tearing off like a racer on a chocobo in the depths of her mind as to what this could all mean. Probably nothing, other than that Estinien considers her less unbearable than most other living beings. 

The parts of her that really need to learn to be sensible do not pay _any_ attention to that attempt at caution.

(())

Gathering her stuff up when the assignments come down (what little there is; Aymeric strives to blend in, which means that even if her family could afford to splurge on more comforts, she would reject them in favor of fitting in with her compatriots), it's really a matter of only a few minutes to rearrange it in the new room. When Estinien shoves the door aside a half-bell later, she stares, then lets out a huff of relief as she begins to store her own things, surprisingly particular about how she does so. "Thank Halone. I was afraid I was going to get put with _another_ noble prick who was going to walk around with their nose up their own arse." 

Even after repeated exposures to get used to it, Estinien's expansive bluntness is still more than capable of causing a humored sputter from Aymeric. "I suppose I should merely be reassured that I have somehow avoided that designation?"

"You're a decent woman. You get a pass." Estinien explains with an amused smile. Somehow, Aymeric has a feeling that, for her, this will work out a lot better than it did for the previous roommates.

(())

It had not been her command, but it had been her plan. The patrol she was out with had spotted the heretics early and she had been lucky enough to know a route where they could split and pin them. It had worked, even. Yet she had not counted well enough on last minute desperation and dragon's blood and the inexperience of one Knight but newly raised to the roll. He had turned his back on the last heretic, missed the vial…

Missed the transformed claws that ripped his throat out an instant later. 

She did not cause his death, she knows that. But if she had planned better — she had warned them better —- if she had been watching closer — a thousand thousand possibilities tumble through her mind as she sits on her bed, knees tucked to her chest.

There is the sound of the door opening, and she registers it distantly, but pays no real attention to it. It will only be Estinien, who inevitably disappears when anyone is too openly feeling an emotion she does not know how to deal with. She will take off again soon enough.

That is what she assumes.

Instead, she is surprised by the dip of the mattress as a second weight settles onto the bed, a hand tentatively resting on her back. She has to lift her head to look at the other woman, confirm that it really _is_ Estinien trying to comfort her. It is a small, subtle thing, but that the gap in that chill wall is large enough to have made a permanent opening for her is a startling realization.

With the invitation, of sorts, given, she shifts enough to rest her cheek against Estinien's shoulder, taking solace in the soft warmth of her body. "I should not be so bothered. It is not like I haven't seen death a hundred times; I just feel… like I should have been better. Smarter. Faster. Something." The scoffing sound the dragoon makes in response is ineloquent, but the point is made clearly all the same, and Aymeric manages a weak smile as she tilts her head a bit more to see the silver-haired woman's face. "Yes, I recall your tendency to feel I take more onto my shoulders as a responsibility than I ought to."

Turning to look down at her, Estinien probably has some other crude comment to make, but finding her face so _close_ , lips parted for whatever words are meant to follow, Aymeric finds herself giving in to sudden impulse as she removes that small slice of distance to press mouth to mouth. There is a brief second where the dragoon inhales sharply and she thinks she might have made a mistake; she is so wrong. As soon as the reality settles, Estinien growls and kisses her back, mouth all but crushing her own with the force of it.

It is far from expected, but Aymeric is in no position or desire to argue about that fact. Shifting to press closer, she breaks the kiss, spots the slight flush across Estinien's cheek, and makes a sound of pure contentment when lips immediately seek her own again. For some minutes, the heady exploration of mouth against mouth, tangling tongues and gently nipping teeth, shared breath and space, is enough to occupy them both more than happily.

But neither of them has ever been the sort to sit on their laurels. As lancer's hands corset her waist to drag her nearer, Aymeric leans to find the edge of an ear, dragging her teeth along it softly. Doing so, along with the soft press of lips that follows, gives her truly lovely sounds to savor in response, tiny gasps that are almost muffled in Estinien's throat but escape despite her best efforts at self-control. Unable to keep from grinning, the knight skims a hand over a tunic-clad torso, tensing minutely in fear of rejection when her palm grazes over the light swell of a breast. 

Rejection does not come, but the arch of a back along with a low groan of response does. Impulse has served her well so far, so Aymeric trusts in it as she reaches to grab the hem of the dragoon's tunic, tugging it upwards in her eagerness to get to the bare skin underneath. There's a brief moment of awkwardness when it gets tangled around Estinien's arms in the process of removal, drawing a low laugh, but soon enough, she can give in to far better temptations, pressing a slow pattern over tanned and scarred skin with kisses. There is more of the latter already than on any other soldier in their age group she's seen, although she's not exactly made a _study_ of the other dragoons the same way. 

She is _decidedly_ making the best study she can of how Estinien's spine twists when she finds the soft flesh of a breast again, covers it with her palm, pressing and squeezing gently. There is a definite ragged edge to breathing, all the more so as Aymeric's lips wander low enough to capture the slight jut of a dark nipple on the other side, drawing it into a hard peak with lips and tongue and breath. Suckling eagerly, she draws back to let it pop loose, to listen to the sharp gasps that accompany the movement each time. Before too terribly long, however, the knight finds that she misses the feel of those lips on hers again too much and breaks off to seek another set of breathless kisses.

Fingertips trembling and eager find a waistband, toying with it, and when Estinien laughs again, soft and rumbling in her chest, she pulls back slightly in uncertainty. "Are those in your way?" Flushed across the cheeks (all the way out to the tips of her ears, actually, by how they're burning), Aymeric gives a rather sharply eager nod of her head, moving back to give the other woman room to finish undressing.

A few moments scrambling to become fully nude, and Aymeric all but _pounces_ back onto the bed as Estinien settles to sit near the head, tucking herself between the dragoon's thighs and kissing her hard. The innate _invitation_ of all that bare skin draws her lips onwards, pressing over neck, fluttering over a belly — accidentally discovering a ticklish spot in the hollow of a hip that makes a leg jerk, Estinien nearly kneeing her hard in the torso. Amused, the knight uses one hand to push that thigh back down flat and wide, turning her head to suck the bloom of a love bite into the softer skin of the inner side. One of Estinien's hands tangles into the length of her dark strands, even as the dragoon requests with a gasp, "Fuck, Aymeric, do that again."

More than happy to comply, she kisses and bites a second bruise in mirror of the first on the other side, savoring the tiny tremors and tensions that run through Estinien's muscles in response. The reality of finally doing what she has dreamed about for so long is heady to the point where Aymeric feels almost lightheaded when she uses her fingertips to lightly part the other woman's folds, sucking in a soft breath in anticipation. The first exploratory drag of her tongue is light, maybe too much so, but it draws a soft pleasured sigh all the same that only spurs more daring.

Now that she finally has the chance to properly learn the taste and feel of Estinien against her mouth, Aymeric has no intention of rushing to a conclusion. Languid, teasing drags of tongue flat or tip are the order of the day, flicking over inner lips, just barely brushing against a needy nub, pressing in to seek more of the salt and musk taste of her lover. In time, the hand in her hair tightens, grows demanding as uneven breaths have taken on a soft, whining edge, tugging to try and get her focus. Lips curling into a slow smile, the knight presses a far too soft kiss over that center of sensation, teasing, and only then does she focus her devotion fully. Mouth locked, she sucks, uses her tongue, curls close between wide-spread thighs and pours everything she has into wringing every last little ecstatic sound from Estinien she can. 

Gasps and ragged moans echo in her ears, shaking fingers having found one and rubbing at it absently as she continues to worship with lips and the faintest touch of teeth and wandering tongue at the altar of her love. The tracing of fingertips over inner lips, teasing over openings, adds to her goal as the hand in her hair pulls on the strands hard. Glancing up through the dark disarray shading her face, she can see how red Estinien is flushed, the harder planes of her face made soft by arousal, dark eyes hooded til they are merely slits, lips parted as she groans louder. "Just a little…. Little more…"

As a lady, it would be the height of poor manners to ignore such a plea. Sucking hard at the hot knot of her partner's clit, lavishing it with her tongue, Aymeric curls the tip of one finger inside Estinien, gently massaging with it. A moment later, the dragoon makes a rough sound that's as much a growl as a cry and she can _feel_ the way it makes the blood rush and muscles tense against her mouth and tongue, hips rocking to grind against her face demandingly as her partner orgasms, leaving them both slick and panting desperately for air. With a few final softer kisses over the still throbbing pink flesh, Aymeric finally pulls back, wiping her face clean(er) with the back of one arm, face flushed.

She is not totally sure what to expect after; it is hard to imagine Estinien as one for soft words. So the fact that after an outward rush of exhalation, the dragoon flops back against the pillow and extends one arm, lazily dragging her up to recline as well, head resting against Estinien's shoulder, sends a buzzing electric thrill through her entirely different from the sexual one. Not wanting to risk the moment in talking, Aymeric lets out a quiet sigh and just curls a bit closer, half-draped over the other woman's long limbs. After a few minutes, a hand lightly brushes a bit of hair from her eyes, not quite a caress, but not entirely distant from one either. "Feel better?"

She makes a quiet little sound of acknowledgement, still scared that speaking will shatter the moment. Fingertips linger a moment more, then drop back against the bed, a wry smile on a face more commonly scowling. "Good."

(())

Aymeric probably should make an effort at some point to actually _ask_ Estinien what their relationship is. She never has the nerve, afraid that the answer will not be the one she's hoping for. After all, she can rely on a secret, soft smile. Rough hands that can be hard or gentle as she needs. The growling rumble of a low voice that encourages her to take care of herself when she forgets. Hearing the words might make it seem more certain, but her heart can live without them.

She has gotten teased enough anyway, since _apparently_ last time her cries were loud enough that Haurchefant heard them from the room next door. Being Haurchefant, she was not in the least hesitant to gleefully bring that fact up or demand to know what, precisely, she had overheard, either. A reminder that she still needs to perfect her self-control.

"You trust me, yes?" The low rumble of that voice against the back of her ear makes Aymeric shiver, the knight pressing her bare form back against that of her dragoon companion, feeling Estinien's muscles and the softer swell of breasts pressed to her shoulder blades. Powerful thighs surround her own, and she shifts a bit to enjoy the feel of being so close even as she lets out a shaky breath and gives a nod of acknowledgement.

"Of course, Estinien."

"Then let me try something new, you noisy beast." Estinien's lips press behind her ear with a low chuckle, even as she makes a soft sputter of protest, one battle-roughened hand is curved over her mouth, fingertips first tapping lightly against her lips. When she parts them, the first two slip within, pressing against her tongue, and silver hair falls like silk against her shoulder as the other woman leans forward and murmurs in continuation, "Suck and keep your pretty mouth busy." She flushes hotly, out to the tips of her ears, and gives a slight nod as she closes lips around those digits, lavishing them with her tongue.

Bodies nestled together, Estinien's other hand finds the heavy weight of a breast, giving it a slight, appreciative heft before she focuses in on the tip, pinching and rolling the nipple between callused fingertips, until it grows hard and throbs with the sensation. Curling her arm further, she treats the other side the same, then gives one a testing hard flick with the back of a fingernail. The sensation is intense enough, on the border of too painful, and Aymeric makes a ragged groan that slips out even among the fingers filling her mouth. Laughing, low and soft, Estinien digs teeth into the back of her neck in a subtle nip, teasing, "That's supposed to be keeping you _quiet_ , Aymeric." Despite the words, there is a clear warmth to the tone.

Blunted nails drag over her belly, curl around thighs to pull first one, then the other, to hook over her partner's, leaving her spread wide and exposed, vulnerable to anything Estinien could want to do to her. Lightly, Aymeric shivers, whining a low protest when all that she _does_ do at first is curl her hand to cup her opened sex, just barely stroking along damp curls and slippery folds in a way that tantalizes but offers barely any actual sensation. She tries to roll her hips, force more, and there is another of those quiet laughs and the hand slips from her mouth, curling instead around the column of her throat and pressing down. It is not enough to cut her air off, but it's enough to make it clear it's _possible_ to do so, and she inhales sharply. The implied threat sends a powerful wash of fire and heat through her, irrational and illogical, but even as she all but melts bonelessly back into the dragoon's body, she can hear that earlier question of trust and her own answer.

She does, is the thing. With no words needed; surely, endlessly, blindly. Estinien may scare her, may hurt her, may be rough or unkind, but in the end, she _knows_ , more surely than she knows her own self, that the other woman will not, perhaps _cannot_ ever truly harm her. Within that knowledge, safe and secure, she can gasp and roll her hips up again, encourage a harder press of both hands, the one pinning her to her partner by the neck to gradually squeeze off her air and the one finally curling between her folds and parting them, fingertips teasingly dipping within her even as a thumb rolls demandingly over her clit. Panting shallowly, she moves with that touch, head fallen back against Estinien's shoulder, body feeling as hot as dragon's breath, everything coiled into a whirling inferno centered in her very core, radiating out waves of intense tremors from every spot where those roughened fingers work her needy sex.

When three push greedily into her, stretching against her inner walls, and Estinien tilts her head enough to capture lips in a harsh kiss, stealing even more of her scant air, she tries to _howl_ with the pleasure of it, that mouth and the firm grip over her throat keeping the sound down to a mere whisper of its potential. Vision dark and trembling, Aymeric keens quietly, desperate with need as the dragoon firmly fucks her with her hand, cants to rub demandingly against that deep, sensitive inner spot as her thumb rests against the side of her nub, waves of pressure in a rhythm she knows will bring her to fall to ruin. She thinks, perhaps, she will hold out a little while, enjoy this a moment longer, but then teeth catch her lower lip and as they let go, she can hear the low croon of her name in Estinien's voice, captivated and encouraging. 

What can she do but give up on holding on, to hear that, a sparkling mote amidst the blackness that triggers a thousand more, a vast explosion that starts in her core and flickers out through her in short, sharp, powerful waves, like all the stars winking into life in sequence until nothing is left of her but _light_ and _dark_ and _pleasure_ and the surreal certainty of _safety within danger_. Oh so slowly, so very slowly, other sensations creep back in. The feel of a hand still moving against her, slower now, drawing out those shuddering waves of ecstasy. Sweat-streaked skin, belly to back, the brush of rough lips against her own. The sound of her heavy, unimpeded breathing, hand moved from her throat, now stroking over her cheek in silent approval and affection.

Blinking until shapes and colors resolve, Aymeric is sure her blush still spreads from ear tip to tip, especially given the smug smile on Estinien's face when she finally pulls away, if only enough to grab a discarded shirt from earlier and drag it over her head. The dragoon wiggles free, leaning down for one more brief kiss before she murmurs, "I'm going to bring back a pitcher of water. Rest a moment more." The shirt is followed by pants — not her own pair either, Aymeric realizes, then decides it does not really matter enough to comment on, not for something so minor. 

She manages to redress herself before Estinien returns. Well. Dress herself in nightclothes, instead, since the dragoon ran off with her own pants. Silver hair now contained in a quick ponytail, she sets down the pitcher on the table and pours two glasses of water, bringing one over with a slightly embarrassed expression. The fact that _now_ is when the embarrassment comes only makes Aymeric the fonder of her, in the end. 

Taking the glass, she pats the bed, then settles to lightly lean against Estinien's side, knowing by now that in the privacy of a locked room, she can get away with a reasonable amount of cuddling. The dragoon watches the knight for a moment, then asks, carefully, "That was… alright, yes? I didn't…"

Aymeric lightly pats a knee with one hand, still wearied from the strength of her own pleasure, but recovering some energy as she sips at the water. "It was wonderful. I told you. I trust you." 

For a moment, she is sure the dragoon blushes, for all it is subtler on her face, then Estinien leans over and presses a brief, unprompted kiss to her cheek. "Well. Good then."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more girl!version angst and smut; Aymeric has a less satisfying nameday with her family and a far more satisfying one with her friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I didn't get all the things my darling Shoutz wants in this, but let's be honest, sooner or later, there'll be more. My best boys as girls is my comfort crack. 
> 
> Bonus love to [ for betaing this chapter for me. ♥](/users/thedreamerdelta)

The evening is just fading from almost uncomfortably warm to pleasantly cool, the early summer air at least blessedly lacking in humidity as Aymeric trudges back towards the barracks. Despite her mother's protests after her nameday dinner, she doesn't really want to draw attention to herself by staying the night there and heading back in the tiny hours of the morning. Nor, for that matter, is her oft ill-sleeping roommate likely to have kind words to her if she has to wake even earlier than usual because Aymeric is being 'coddled' at home. (She has long since given up on explaining to Estinien how the situation of a minor house, while certainly more comfortable than what her friend grew up with, is a long way from the excesses of the High Houses.)

More relevantly, she's also disappointed (and absolutely not sulking, no matter what her mother said) that, yet again, the time was "just not right yet" to tell her everything that her parents know about her true origins, "maybe next nameday". Aymeric knew from quite young that she was adopted — even a small child will eventually notice that they have very dark hair and light skin, while both the lord and lady Borel had dark skin and hair of dark blonde and pale ginger, respectively. Suffice to say, it is unlikely that anyone would look at them and assume any possible child they had would resemble Aymeric. As thus, she knew she was adopted before she began her schooling. And very quickly after starting school, what a bastard was, why she can't get into fist-fights, and what she was supposed to say (and not say) if someone mentioned her looking like one of the Cardinals. 

By the time Aymeric remembered that children usually start with a mother and father, the opportunity to press had passed. Even once she starts asking, she never does get an answer; still doesn't. She has a few ideas why, some kind, some far less so. It is possible that her resemblance to her birth father, always strong in the eyes and around the chin, was too clear not to be noticed. It's also possible that no one would ever be aware if she resembled her mother in some way, because whoever it was had disappeared into the Witchdrop or somewhere similar years ago. 

After cracking open the always badly painted barracks door, Aymeric traces the corridors toward her room. Her hand is on the handle when she hears a muffled murmur from inside, not quite discernible as distinct words, followed by a familiar laugh that easily carries straight through the door. Haurchefant. She can only pray that only means Estinien was the other voice and not some unknown number of personages. Allowing herself the indulgence of a brief, weary sigh, Aymeric schools her face to neutral warmth and opens the door to her room.

Within is a sight that she's not sure even her wildest dreams have ever conjured. Wide-eyed and with a breathless squeak, Aymeric darts inside and slams the door shut all in a single instance. She then promptly slumps back against the door, staring. How can she _not_ stare, at this sight?

Haurchefant and Estinien seeking to spend time together without her is rare enough; she loves them both dearly, but their natures are rather opposite in many things and they do better with Aymeric buffering them. So for them to have been in one another's presence, without her, is already a point of surprise. Far _more_ so is what they are both wearing — or rather, what they are _not_ wearing. Technically, she's seen Haurchefant in lingerie before, back when they were earlier in their training and had shared a room, before Aymeric's path followed serving the Temple, and Haurchefant her own house primarily. That, however, was usually briefly before she snuck out to meet a liaison, not something Haurchefant wore _for her_ (as she did now), sleek set of black satin trimmed in red lace. Far more impressive was that she somehow managed to get _Estinien_ into something other than plain, serviceable cotton pantalettes and a simple chemise top. 

That something is still simple but _striking_ , or at least, it is more than capable of taking Aymeric's breath away, as she stares at her roommate and friend — maybe something more, not that she dares to ever ask — in a white lace halter that ties behind her neck and back, technically containing the curves of her darker skinned chest, but realistically doing far more to highlight them. They're bared with a very small pair of matching briefs that tie over the hips… and over that, leather straps wrap to hold a rather sizable phallic toy. 

Aymeric is pretty sure she's supposed to be doing or saying something and not just staring, slack-jawed, at the pair sitting on her bed. Her mind, however, seems to refuse to conjure any words that aren't just Haurche's past gleeful speculations about the thighs, buttocks, and general thrusting power of dragoons, and… 

She becomes aware that she's blushing so hot that her face and ears are possibly literally on fire. With another of those gleeful, merry laughs, Haurchefant shoves an elbow into Estinien's side, drawing a disgruntled noise from the dragoon. (Who, Aymeric realizes, is _also_ blushing, if not quite as much as herself.) "See, I _told_ you she would appreciate it. Aren't you glad I talked you into trusting me?" The silver-haired woman is somewhat less than convinced looking, her gaze turning away from Aymeric to the wall in embarrassment, arms crossing to half-hide her lace-draped bosom.

It's enough to break Aymeric's shock, because soothing Estinien's hidden insecurities has long since become instinctive to her. She quickly closes the space between the door and the bed, leaning down to lift the dragoon's chin up and meet her lips in a deep, lingering kiss. She holds the press until she feels the start of relaxation, breaking it with a warm smile. "Haurchefant is right, I _do_ appreciate it." Turning slightly, she presses a kiss to the corner of her friend's mouth. "Even if I most assuredly was not expecting such a thing to await me!"

"Well, yes, that is the entire point of a surprise!" Haurchefant points out, looking like she's about to start vibrating with gleeful pride. It's rather charming, even as she reaches to tug lightly at the fur ruff of the proper gown Aymeric had changed into for her time with family. "You, however, seem rather overdressed for enjoying your birthday gift, my dear friend."

Unable to suppress a soft laugh, Aymeric turns, requesting in a quiet voice, as she has many times before after a visit home, "Estinien, if you would be so kind?" While she's quite capable of the contortions that unbuttoning requires on her own, this is far simpler and, of course, always comes with the pleasing likelihood of dangling temptation in front of her friend. The dragoon's fingers start the process of slow unhooking and as half-expected and half-hoped, Estinien gives in to the same urge she often does, starting to press kisses along Aymeric's spine as it is revealed. 

Aymeric sighs contentedly and as her dress starts to slide forward from her shoulders, Haurchefant reaches to tug it free from her arms as well. Soon, she is as undressed as either of them, Estinien's arms wrapping her hips from behind as the dragoon nuzzles against the small of her back. Haurchefant smiles up at her, extending a hand in invitation. "Shall we spoil you rotten for your nameday now?" Aymeric is more than willing to be dragged down now to sit between them, warm flesh pressed close on either side.

Even if she's clearly agreed to Haurchefant's presence, there's a definite possessive edge when Estinien turns Aymeric's head to kiss her demandingly, all tongue and teeth and clear desire to leave the memory of herself in her wake. Haurchefant is less focused but no less enthusiastic, peppering sloppy kisses and sucking lovebites into the skin of Aymeric's shoulders and neck. Being in the midst of two such varied focuses is a rather dizzying sensation, her head seeming to float, and the knight whimpers shakily into the dragoon's claiming mouth. Haurche's clever fingers are working on undoing her smallclothes as she goes, sliding under to cup breasts, lifting them in her hands so she can sweep fingertips over the peaks until Aymeric's nipples start to harden.

Estinien finally notices what Haurchefant is about and half-shoves Aymeric back to get her own access, head ducking til she can close lips around one nipple, knocking the younger knight's hand aside with a butt of her chin. Not to be outdone, Haurche chortles happily and does the same on the other side. With a warm, wet mouth over each nipple, sucklng with different pressures and speeds, it feels like currents of levin are running straight to her core, Aymeric's back arching in eager reaction, her thighs parting slightly. The contrast is part of the fascination, with the dragoon far more prone to intense pressure and judicious use of teeth to force pleasure higher demandingly, while the Fortemps knight is more fond of swirling tongue and breath cool and hot washing over wet skin, a gentler sort of allure.

Aymeric hardly knows what to do with her own hands, reaching to stroke along randomly over skin still fairly smooth (Haurchefant is always well armored and rarely takes stupid risks) and heavily roughened by scars (because no mail, no matter how good, can fully compensate for Estinien's single-minded bloody focus in battle and disregard for her own body). She traces nails down a familiar set of draconic claw grooves that curl over Estinien's ribs, smirking as it makes the dragoon's breath draw in in a ragged hiss, as it ever does. 

(In truth, Aymeric adores Estinien's scars, the chance to explore them with fingertips or tongue. They mark her dedication, her ferocity, her determination. It reminds her of her first thought on seeing the dragoon, that she may well be Halone reborn, and it would still make sense. The goddess of war _should_ be marked by her calling, beautiful and deadly in no small part because of what she endures.)

For that matter, it or the situation seems to be spurring on Estinien's desire, and Aymeric finds the dragoon's hands are prying her thighs further apart, stroking over the insides teasingly. Finally letting go of the clasp her mouth has at the nipple, she now seeks to bite and nip along Aymeric's neck, pressing down with lips and teeth particularly hard and no doubt leaving a red mark over the knight's pulse as she finally curls her hand to find the other woman's slick folds. Aymeric can't help but gasp, even with the touch still light and exploratory, tracing her slit before it finds the tight bud of her clit and two fingers settle on either side of it.

Haurchefant grins and wiggles up to sit closer to the head of the bed, drawing Aymeric back to lean against her. This places her in the ideal position for reclaiming both breasts with her hands, lips seeking out the edge of an ear to tease it as she starts to knead firmly. Estinien settles, kneeling between Aymeric's legs, starting to slowly stroke on either side of her pearl, steady and even. The woman's deep blue eyes are almost on fire with intensity, locked onto Aymeric's face, taking in every little twist of her features, the delicate sheen of sweat starting to stick black curls to her forehead, the way her lips are parted as she gasps. 

Peeking over Aymeric's shoulder, Haurchfant's lips curve up into a wider smile against the back of her ear. "Goodness, Estinien, I would almost think you enjoyed the sight of her like that."

That earns her a flat look then, a streak of stubbornness pushing her into honesty, Estinien huffs out a soft breath, fingers speeding up their stoking touches. "Aymeric is _always_ beautiful. But especially so like this." The insistence draws a heat to Aymeric's face that isn't even about her physical pleasure, although there's quite a bit of that, certainly. Enough that near every inch of her skin is warm past the height of summer, alive and alight with awareness of even the smallest touches, like where the inside of her thighs presses against Estinien's hips, or the soft pressure of Haurchefant's breasts against her back. She drags in deep, uneven breathes, almost constantly whining quietly with excitement now.

Almost shy, which has a certain irony given how often and eagerly she engages in it, Estinien uses a fingertip to test Aymeric's slickness, a wolfish grin lighting up her face at what she finds. "Ah, I suppose that's proof enough that she really does like the idea, isn't it, Haurchefant?" She pulls her hand back, long enough to flick her tongue over the traces of female honey on it, then quick and demanding, presses that digit and second back into the knight, curling them slightly. Gasping, Aymeric lifts off the bed slightly, pushing her shoulders back into Haurchefant, who only grips her more tightly, nudging her head to the side so she can kiss her now, mouth hot and soft.

A slight sense of strain and pressure as another finger slips into her, Estinien flexing them slowly. Even if she can't see it right now, Aymeric has a quite clear idea of what her lover's face looks like; she's always intense and fascinated by now, whether watching Aymeric's face or her hands on the other woman's body. The dragoon works the digits in and out slowly, stretching them apart, listening to Aymeric's muffled cries and her increasing inability not to try and grind back against that hand. Fire licks through her nerves like liquid gold, and Haurchefant breaks the kiss, glancing over towards Estinien. "I think she's ready, don't you?"

Estinien makes a low, smug sound of agreement, fingers sliding free once more. Balancing her weight on one hand, she leans forward over Aymeric's form, smirking as she offers the knight her slick-coated digits. Face flushed, Aymeric opens her mouth to clean them, the toy strapped to the dragoon falling against her stomach as Estinien leans in. It's no more than a light touch, enough to feel the shape, but that is enough to keep her mind on being eager to feel it more thoroughly from within.

A few moments later, Estinien takes her hand away to place it on Aymeric's hip, lifting it up a little before she shifts to find the best way to align the mock phallus between the folds of Aymeric's sex. Once she finds just the right spot, she nudges her hips forward, just so, teeth digging into her lower lip to mark her focus. Even if the sudden fullness wasn't making the knight groan and arch anyway, seeing Estinien's face, determined and full of her competitive need to master the skills between her and her goals would have undone her. 

Estinien shifts and Aymeric can't help but cry out, sharp and eager, and she becomes aware of nearby laughter as Haurchefant slides back, leaving her to lay flat. Her friend leans over, tapping a fingertip against the knight's nose with a sprightly smile. "You're still noisy. Mind me helping with that?" She wouldn't want to quash such an eager offer, and Aymeric is quick to nod, the other knight moving now to straddle her face. Elegant-fingered hands are quick to grab and wrap around Haurchefant's slim hips, helping to guide her into place so Aymeric can use her tongue, drawing it over the sodden folds and then probing between eagerly. 

Soon, she finds a rhythm of sorts, trying to match that of the dragoon working the toy within her, grinding against that deep, sensitive spot and drawing forth moans and wails that likely would indeed have carried if not for the muffling effect of Haurchefant riding her face. Estinien fucks the way she fights, all power and grace and utterly merciless determination. If you had the luck (possibly ill) to be her sparring partner, she had every expectation that you would damn well be trying to meet her level. Aymeric had never considered Haurchefant to be less than enthusiastic in taking her, but Estinien was a whole new level. Her hips rolled and snapped as if she could undo Aymeric by sheer demand alone, deep and powerful thrusts that seems as if they could reach to the very core of her.

A fluttering little gasp and a rush of slick marks Haurchefant reaching a peak, fingers curling eagerly into Aymeric's hair and tugging as she demands happily, cheerfully, "Another! You're not done yet!" All too familiar with the insatiable nature of the Fortemps bastard, Aymeric drags her tongue back up to the throbbing bundle of nerves where pleasure sits highest, moving against it in steady, firm strokes. Not to be outdone in holding her attention, a callused finger works between driving hips to find the same spot on her, pinching and rolling her nub as Estinien continues to claim her depths. With so much going on, it feels like Aymeric could draw a map of the veins and nerves of her body, every single one alight and singing joyously of pleasure and strain, tight and vibrating in harmony.

Estinien shifts her posture and some subtle alchemy of angle and speed occurs. A few more thrusts and Aymeric is keening against the slippery folds of Haurchefant's cunt as orgasm sweeps over her like a summer storm breaking. As she pants and trembles in her pleasure, the short-haired knight grinds shamelessly down against her mouth and tongue, greedily wrangling a second gasping and shuddering peak as well. Between her legs, the dragoon slows, then stills, pulling out the toy with a lurid, wet sound before she slumps to take ragged breaths as well. 

Haurchefant half-tumbles off to the side, sprawling on the bed in glorious sweat-soaked languishment. Aymeric shifts and settles between the other two women, feeling one of Estinien's hand reach to stroke over her cheek. She blinks at the rather tender touch and turns her head to the side, meeting a smile that is, for once, almost as happy as the younger knight's, if rather more openly smug, as the dragoon murmurs, her voice fond, "Happy nameday, Aymeric." 

The celebrated knight blushes and rolls onto her side, leaning to kiss the dragoon. "Very happy. Thank you." 

Estinien manages a small blush — an impressive enough feat — and leans across her, lips touching briefly to Haurchefant in what is no more than a light peck, but… Still. Estinien! Kissing Haurchefant! "Thank your troublesome bastard of a friend too; it was her idea and her lessons that made it possible. I suppose she's not too terrible." The last is punctuated with a cheeky grin directed at the Fortemps knight, who responds by lightly throwing one of the pillows into Estinien's face. The dragoon falls back with a laugh and Aymeric turns again, wrapping her arms around Haurchefant to hug her warmly.

"Yes, thank you too. For everything." Her hug is returned, then they simply all sprawl and enjoy the relaxation for a span, piled in the bed together in the evening cool, until sleep comes to steal away the focus from their quiet, friendly conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, all hail the [Book Club](https://discord.gg/2w2gtaN) which is _definitely not something I say just because it's run by the hypnotoad_. Please, join us.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haurchefant is, in fact, an excellent teacher, at least in regards to sexual matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably should have been working on other things, but flashing back to the preparation for last chapter was silly and fun and brought joy, so, here it is. Hopefully it is silly and fun and a little sexy for others too.
> 
> Comments are much beloved. ♥

In retrospect, Estinien was not anywhere _near_ suspicious enough when she found Haurchefant lounging in that maddeningly _casual_ way she has in the entryway to the practice yard one morning.

Glaring in return to the cheery smile she is given, the dragoon slams the borrowed lance back onto the rack of practice weapons and crosses arms across her chest. Although she’s left staring right at that damned grin, since while she and Aymeric had settled at a perfectly respectable height, the younger Haurchefant had managed to _keep going_ until she had several ilms on both of her older friends. Which Estinien was _not_ resentful of. At all. She just wasn’t going to tip her head back and acknowledge it.

“Aymeric’s got morning patrol in the pillars today, sod off and go find her there.”

“In fact, I was looking for you.” Haurchefant takes a step back, enough so Estinien must meet her eyes. She gives a small shake of her head, eyes gleaming. “I was going to get lunch. If you would be so kind as to join me, I’ll buy you something not from the mess hall.” A bribe that, unfortunately, she knows Estinien will be genuinely tempted by. She is not picky — the mess halls are perfectly fine food, as it goes — but she craves _variety_ which they rarely have access to.

Squinting at the younger knight in distrust for a moment, Estinien finally sighs and gives a slow nod. “Fine. You’ll just harangue me until you get to mouth off about whatever you want anyway and at least I get a free meal out of it this way.” With the weather fairly warm, she pulls her gloves off, tucking them into her belt before gesturing with her chin towards the nearest path towards the Crozier and, more importantly, the Crozier’s food vendors. “Lead the way, little miss sunshine.”

“You only call me that because you fill that pretty head of yours with storm clouds.” Haurchefant argues cheerfully, leading the way out at an easy amble, steps light and practically floating. “Well. Mostly storm clouds.”

“Get to the point.” Estinien suggests gruffly, peeking around the taller woman as she sniffs the aromas carried on the breeze. “Is that clam chowder? Can we get that?”

“If we do, will you actually pay attention to something other than your stomach growling?” Haurchefant asks, nodding all the same as she leads the way to the vendor and arranges the purchase of two bread bowls full of the milky, thick soup. After passing one off to Estinien, she nudges the dragoon towards a low-slung wall nearby.

Instead of answering her, Estinien pulls a spoon out of her pocket and stuffs her mouth full of clam chowder.

With a sigh, Haurchefant settles to sit nearby and does the same, if rather more elegantly. “Don’t answer til you after you swallow, please, you wild animal, but you know that Aymeric’s nameday is coming up soon, yes?”

The urge to stuff her mouth full again just to open it and show Haurchefant is _strong._ However, doing so would only prove her stupid nobility-addled point, so Estinien manages to suppress it. “Yes.” Haurchefant stares at her as if waiting for more, but damn it, she answered the question and she’s in no hurry to pry the rest out of the knight, especially as she can practically see steam starting to rise from Haurchefant as she stuffs in another mouthful.

Conceding victory, the Fortemps bastard briefly closes her eyes, no doubt in prayer, than continues, “Halone help me for being an optimist. Namedays tend to be hard for her and well, my time is owed ever more to the needs of my house. While I have a chance, I want to do something special for her. Something of the sort where these days, she’s only going to be amenable if you’re a participant.”

A slight queasy tremor chills Estinien’s bowels and she pauses in her eating, looking sidelong back at Haurchefant. “What in Halone’s fucking halls do you mean by that?”

She gets a look so bland in return that she _knows_ it is meant to needle at her. “Estinien. Give me credit, I have been Aymeric’s friend longer than you, and for that matter, you are well aware that I have ears. You and our mutual friend are intimate and she, at least, is rather enamored.”

Her eyes are narrowing by the instant and Estinien has a moment when she becomes aware she’s started gripping her spoon like she’s going to stab it into something, or rather someone. Huffing out a long, slow breath, she finally hisses, “You are damn lucky you may be the one person I will believe doesn’t intend to use that fact against her.”

Holding one hand in a soothing gesture, Haurchefant laughs, clearly not at all intimidated either by the savage spoon or the bestial hissing that accompanied it. “Of course, I would not, and recall, I want this to be a pleasant surprise.” Smirking a little, she prepares another spoonful of her own meal. “I just want to help you learn an additional weapon… that I happen to know your lady enjoys. Enthusiastically.”

The reminder that before her, Haurchefant was the one sharing Aymeric’s attentions turns that earlier ice to a fiery flush, leads to Estinien’s veins flooding with a brief flash of possessiveness. As much as she wants to nurture it, she has to concede; she has not had the nerves to speak of her and Aymeric’s intimacy to admit she wants it to be more romantic than friendly, to the extent that she has any idea how to even _be_ romantic. Which she does not, which is why she possibly should at least _hear out_ whatever insane idea Haurchefant has, because unfortunately, the giggling dunderhead is actually more socially capable than she is. After a quick sweep of eyes to make sure they’re still well distanced from any curious ears, she finally mutters, resentment seasoning every word, “So you want to teach me some bit of filthy bedroom frippery because it will make Aymeric happy. Do I have the right of it?”

Somehow, Haurchefant seems to already sense victory in hand, and that massive grin on those thin lips only spreads further. It is not that she’s beautiful like Aymeric is but… there’s something full of character and surprisingly pleasing when she does it. “Oh, far more than that, my friend. I’m going to teach you how to swive her like you were born a man.”

(())

The next night, Estinien perches on the edge of Haurchefant’s bed like a gargoyle about to take flight, every muscle in her drawn tense as she watches the other woman casually shedding layers to bare narrow hips and small breasts that fit her athletic frame quite well. Which is _not_ to say that she is paying attention to that detail. Mostly, she is paying attention to trying to not jump out of her own skin.

She has had to give up on not obviously blushing, especially when Haurchefant, having tossed her clothes and down to bare skin, bends over to dig something out of a footlocker. The view doing so provides is… is… Well, she’s sweating and it’s still late spring and she hasn’t been sparring. A moment later, Haurchefant absolutely _pops_ back up, setting even her quite modest breasts to swaying a moment in a most distracting way. Her hands are full of what looks, right now, like a tangle of brown leather straps and…

Previously, she has only seen one of those attached to a man. Although those are not made of rubber.

“That’s the weapon you want me to learn to use.”

Haurchefant’s smile could light a thousand fires. “For the sake of your lady. I would say for the sake of her honor but let us be honest; what you will do with a weapon in hand will hardly leave her honorable.”

There is no reasonable way that Estinien can argue that when they have both shared the bed of the lady in question at different times, but she manages a weak grunt of protest for the sake of Aymeric’s honor. Which only makes Haurchefant chortle gleefully as she slings herself onto the bed next to the dragoon, the straps falling to her lap as she holds out the ‘weapon’ to the other woman. “Take a look. Notice how it is all wide at the bottom? That’s to keep it in place in the harness.”

Estinien holds the faux phallus gingerly, trying to just touch it with the very tips of her fingers. As soon as Haurchefant realizes what she is doing, the damned _sunbeam_ starts to laugh. “It is not going to bite you, it’s just rubber. Not even magical. If you intend to be able to use one on Aymeric, you would best not be afraid of touching it.” Of course, now she has to prove that she is _not_ afraid, in this case by fisting the damned thing, then lifting her head to look Haurchefant dead in the eyes as she starts to pump it suggestively.

It is worth it for the split-second of shock in those bright blue eyes before the younger woman is back to grinning madly. “That’s the spirit!”

The next while goes about the logistics of fastening the harness, where and how to wear it, fastening in the dildo, and other such minutiae. Only once everything is in place and she has submitted to a blush-inducing, careful examination of where the straps lie does the young knight says cheerfully, “And now for the practical demonstration!”

Oh, _Twelve_. She had pretty much managed to forget that part of things. Swallowing weakly, Estinien leans back on her hands, pondering how much she wants to risk humiliation before she spits it out. “It’s been a long time since I have dabbled in this sort of uh… and never with a lass.” She winces a bit at catching the last word and hearing the echo of country vowels in her tones. Haurchefant may be a bastard, but she is still basically _noble_.

She can see the moment where Haurchefant tries to work through this and finally manages to coil it all about. “Oh, you haven’t gotten swived recently, or at least not with a cock, eh? I mean I guessed that much, Aymeric won’t ask, but it was pretty clear to _me_ you hadn’t been in any beds since you and she got to be friends, much less since she finally got up the nerve to kiss you.” For a moment, no matter how _fond_ she is of Aymeric, she ponders the merits of strangling her. (Then she remembers she has done that, just, ah, _gently_ , because oh, _Halone_ how Aymeric had cum on her fingers when she did.)

“Yeah,” Estinien half-sputters, but despite it all, there is this innate gentleness to Haurchefant’s smile and her touch, a hand tracing a soft path over her arms. It also helps in a strange way, because her touch is smooth and even and she does not linger adoringly on the scars the way Aymeric does. It grounds her in this moment, enough to relax and awkwardly lean in to push her lips against the young knight’s. It feels… nicer than expected. Not half bad, really.

It’s almost a surprise to realize that Haurchefant’s hands have made it to her breasts, pawing with eager enthusiasm. She does her best to do the same, although perhaps a bit more skillfully. (Probably not, but it makes her feel less awkward to think it.) The bastard is actually quite, well, patient, not rushing her forward, but after that point, waiting for Estinien’s first hesitant slide of a hand lower towards a belly before she moves her own touches on.

A hand dips between Estinien’s slightly spread thighs, coaxing them wider with gentle caresses, then cupping between them. Deft and warm, they part her, dip between to spread her slowly growing slick. One roughened finger curls to stroke along her pearl, eager and enthusiastic in her work. At this point, she is a bit less worried about touching back, because she is pretty sure her partner is too focused on being of service to care. The dragoon shifts to leaning back on her elbows, watching the sheer good-natured _glee_ on Haurchefant’s face as she continues to caress her, bemused. Kind of arousing too, at that. Which she must admit is having an effect; she has been breathing faster and heavier for a while now, and it’s hard to suppress quiet whimpers of pleasure.

For that matter, more than just whimpers; she can hear herself whine when fingertips curl inside her opening. There is a soft stretching and aching sensation as two of Haurchefant’s fingers plunge deeper, hooking to massage slowly against her inner walls. The young knight slides lips along her jawline, up to her ear. She nibbles and flicks with her tongue, catlike, and it makes Estinien squirm eagerly, even as those fingers pull out and move instead to her hips. Haurchefant’s voice is soft and genuine, and it is almost the hardest part, the fact that at this point, she does not think she can dismiss the bastard knight as a cheerful idiot anymore. “Do you think you’re ready, my friend?”

Estinien worries her lower lip between her teeth, then nods her head slightly. “Yeah. Sure.” That does not sound as confident as she likes, but Haurchefant is too kind to call her on it. The knight makes a soothing little noise and goes back to pressing kisses to her neck as she leans in closer, carefully hooking one of Estinien’s legs up over her hip and settling into the gap. With care and a certain familiar grace, she maneuvers the toy to the right spot, her hips shifting and rolling to start to press it forward and in.

Estinien does not think the proper response is to grit her teeth. Haurchefant settles just barely inside her and doesn’t push it further, murmuring soft assurances as she presses more soothing kisses to the dragoon’s neck. It is only when Estinien finally relaxes, then starts to squirm softly as the pressure moves from awkward to tempting that Haurchefant slides fully home. The innate thoughtfulness and awareness of her comfort is far more than she expected, and it makes her feel soft and raw in an entirely unexpected way. Gasping, burying her face in the soft feathering of thick ice-blue that tickles her nose, she strokes Haurchefant’s flanks, pulls her in to start to thrust slowly.

‘Tis not that she’s completely unused to the sensation, but there’s only been a lad or two in her past; she has rarely seen the point to them, honestly. Girls are generally a lot more fun, and she would have to admit, this is turning into a pretty good argument that this girl at least swives her better than any man has. She clutches at Haurchefant, who is making her own eager sounds as the base of the toy grinds against her mound and no doubt puts pressure against her clitoris. Estinien makes a vague note to learn the skill later but for now she is quite happily distracted by Haurchefant’s clever fingers doing their best to unwind her with teasing touches to her pearl.

Awkward as it might have begun, and surprisingly comfortable and easy, Estinien groans and does her best to return touches as she can, but on the whole, she’s a toe-curling mess in Haurchefant’s extremely competent hands and hips. Prior to this, she’d privately thought that toys had seemed rather pointless, but that’s another rapidly re-evaluated opinion, especially when the knight shifts and the toy presses against a spot used to more focused, gentle massage from fingers; something about the blunt, wide pressure makes her have to muffle herself by biting down hard onto a tan-skinned shoulder. They rock together and she claws long lines down Haurchefant’s side as she slams into a climax, the pressure of her driving up into the next thrust as it sets her off to trembling waves of pleasure is enough to work the toy against her partner so she follows after, gasping in a series of short, sharp pants as she dissolves into ecstasy as well.

Slumping back amongst the Fortemps bastard’s sheets, Estinien finds herself unexpectedly comfortable and relaxed. She wipes sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand, the peers up at Haurchefant, who is watching her with a gentle warmth to her gaze. Twelve damn these Ishgardian noble bastards, there is something about them being genuinely _nice_ people under it all and it utterly conflicts with all her expectations. Swallowing, she looks away for a moment, then back. “Ah. We’ve still got a few days. Are we going to try and practice this again? With the roles reversed next time.”

Haurchefant’s face absolutely _lights_ up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, want to talk and hang out with other people who love FFXIV fic, whether it be writing it or reading it? Please stop by [The Bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic) and join us!
> 
> Want to bug me specifically? My various social media (an be found via [my carrd](https://nightmist.carrd.co).

**Author's Note:**

> Remember, all hail the [Book Club](https://discord.gg/2w2gtaN) which is _definitely not something I say just because it's run by the hypnotoad_. Please, join us.


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